


Does This Count As A First Date?

by Zugzwang (thunderdone)



Category: supermega
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, One Night Stand, Ryatt - Freeform, They're just supermegay, bottom! Ryan, gay shit, idk I've heard that used before, idk yo, implied nsfw, its at least mentioned that Ryan bottoms, shipmega
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderdone/pseuds/Zugzwang
Summary: Ryan wakes up in a stranger's bed their arms wrapped snugly around his waist and he's not totally sure what to do.





	Does This Count As A First Date?

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what the fuck this is but I dig it.

Ryan's body eases into wakefulness, feeling a wave of consciousness first hit him in his eyes, rolling over him and peeling them open together. It's too bright to see when he first wakes up, light ricocheting off the pure white walls, into his eyes. He squints, beginning to feel more and more with each second. The sheets, soft, almost with the stiffness of those freshly pressed into the mattress and made. Almost. A lingering twinge of some scent or another knocks him off. Ryan's face twitches, as he curls his hand around the pillow beneath his head. Daylight calls him, however, so he's drawn to stretch his arms and try to roll over. 

But there's a problem, it's taken him a moment to realize. 

He doesn't have white walls. The walls of his room are blue. His window doesn't shine light on his face in the morning. At home his bed shares the wall facing south, not east. He doesn't have anyone who would wrap their arms around his waist and make it hard for him to roll over. At least, nobody consistent, no significant other. 

Oh no. 

Taking stock of his own body, Ryan begins to piece together whatever he can to create a cohesive narrative of what the hell happened, or, rather, the best case scenario. There's a significant effort, on his part, to not totally freak out and lose his goddamn mind over his situation. Even the slightest hint of focusing on the unfamiliar surroundings elevated his heart rate and probably took days, if not weeks, off of his lifespan. 

With the newfound stress coursing through his body, his impulses changed from rest and relaxation to flight and... Flight. Exclusively. This was compounded upon as he tried to calm himself down. To focus his breathing inward, he brought a hand to his chest, yet the placement of the strangers arm above his stomach was enough to drive pangs of worry into him. 

Focus. What happened last night? Who the hell is this guy, and where is he? Ryan bites at his lip as he thinks. Maybe it's just Tucker's room? Or another friend's. Maybe they thought he was getting too out of hand or something and took him back to their place rather than letting him walk home. Best case scenario, that's all that this could be. But then, why wouldn't he have clothes on. Oh god, what if-

There's a quiet sigh from behind him, and the body briefly holds him tighter, closer. Ryan feels a pair of lips on his shoulder. 

"Mm, morning."

"Mornin'." Only snippets of memory find him of that voice. He remembers the feeling of this guy talking, too much, but that's about it. Not much else. There's a texture to it, the lingering of lower bassy tones shared between their two chests. 

"You sleep well?" The arms around his waist shift, one hand trailing up to his side, only to trace what Ryan can assume is supposed to be reassuring circles into his hip. "I kinda hoped you'd still be here in the morning."

"Uh-huh, still here. Slept well." Oh god. Did he-

"You were great last night," the voice chimes in again, this time taking a longer pause between his sentences to press occasional kisses into Ryan's shoulder, wandering down toward his collarbone. "I don't do this sort of thing, you know. I just... I dunno."

"I, uh- look, I'm gonna be honest, I- ow, holy-" Ryan made a move to roll onto his back and was greeted with a deep stinging ache he hadn't felt before. "Shit. Oh my god." His eyes are closed for a moment as he registers the pain. But once he grows accustomed to it, he reopens them, looking at the mystery guy. 

He somehow managed to bed a fucking ten. There's this stellar guy, lying before him. This soft brown hair hangs over his forehead, and he's got these pillowy lips, and holy shit he's just beautiful. Only problem is he isn't looking too happy anymore. His brows knit together, blue eyes screwed into Ryan's own gaze. 

"You're still gay, right?" Ryan's taken aback for a moment by the question, blinking a few times before nodding.

"Yeah, of course I'm still gay. I just don't remember shit from last night." A look of relief spread across the stranger's face, and Ryan feels a little less awful. "I mean, it feels like we had a good time. To me at least. But I mean..." Ryan trails off, unsure what to say. 

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. Uh, I'm Matt?" Matt raises his hand to his hair, propping himself up on one elbow. He thinks for a moment before continuing. "I dunno, we met at the gay bar on Church Street. You said your friend made you see the drag show, and you were obligated to come along for whatever reason." A mischievous smile curls up his lips. "Your ass looks really cute in panties."

"What?!"

"I'm kidding. Take it easy. I'm only assuming it does." Matt sits all the way up, stretching his arms above his head. He gives that tired little sigh again. Ryan's just awestruck at him, following him to a sort of sitting up position, not focused on his his mouth hangs slightly open. "Look," Matt begins again, "why don't we talk over some food. You're probably starving, I make a mean omelette, what do you say. Plus it'll give you time to... I dunno, clean up, reorient yourself. How does that sound?" It's all Ryan can do to nod in return. 

Matt leans over and presses a quick kiss to his cheek before he gets out of bed, heading over to his closet. Rather than delving into it, he grabs a sweatshirt off the floor in front of it and some boxers from a small nightstand, exiting the room soon after, leaving Ryan to slowly realize that, wait, that was his sweatshirt. A black one from Charleston. 

But that didn't really matter right now. He just had to take stock of himself and figure all this out. Step one, find his phone. Ryan sits up slowly, wincing as he forces himself up. Hell, if he's still this sore later in the day he might as well skip going to the gym today he figures. On jelly legs, he stands, taking measured steps toward where his pants are. When he finds his phone in the same back pocket he had left it in the night prior, a wave of relief washes over him, even if it was only at around thirty percent. 

From here, step two? Is this step two? Or was finding and using his phone one giant step with substeps within it. No matter, he sends Tucker a brief "hey I'm alive" text, just to be sure he knows he's all set. Thank Christ his mom hadn't called, that would have been a doozy to deal with, whether slightly inebriated or... Whatever. Without waiting for Tucker to reply to his text, he opens up his front facing camera and- holy shit. 

Up and down his neck blossoms reds, purples, bruises of all colors and shapes. Okay, no, maybe he's exaggerating. At first glance, it seems bad. But, there's really only one prominent one just to the left of his Adam's apple, lighter red spotted with darker areas. But, the worst of them was thankfully one he could hide under a shirt collar, just at his collarbone. That one lingered downward, but never found a specific target. Ryan raises one hand to press into the darker of the two, more from curiosity than fear of pain. Not bad. Maybe a little bit reminiscent of the sluts in high school but, honestly? He isn't complaining at all. They kinda look good. 

Ryan shuts his phone off and tosses it onto Matt's bed, hunting down his own pair of boxers to drag on. Since Matt was kind enough to steal the shirt from his back off the floor, he snags one of Matt's from inside the closet. It doesn't fit perfectly, a little tight around the arms, but he's not complaining. The length makes up for it, bottom of it coming down over his thighs. 

With the same ginger steps from before, Ryan slips out of Matt's room into the hallway. The smell of bacon hits him first, pulling him toward the kitchen where Matt appears to be cooking. He seems to hum some song to himself, hips swaying gently from side to side as he sprinkles ingredients into the omelette to an invisible rhythm. Ryan's taken aback, each time he's reintroduced to Matt's beauty, stunned that a guy this pretty wanted to get with him. Sure, Ryan doesn't know what he was like last night, whether, by some miracle, he was smooth and totally hilarious, but part of his head still told him it must have been wholly based off of looks. 

He snags a chair at the side counter of the kitchen, leaning on one hand as he watches Matt. Only when he's finished popping in the last of the vegetables does Matt acknowledge Ryan, leaning in from the opposite side of the counter to look at him. There's this little smile on Matt's face that wrinkles his eyes, while maintaining subtly in the upturned lips. Ryan's speechless, sitting up straighter and breaks eye contact. 

"Want a blow by blow account?" Matt winks, lips finally pulled back into an actual smile. He's got a snaggletooth in his front couple teeth, which Ryan had never known, before he met Matt, that he found totally endearing. Ryan stifles a laugh while he rolls his eyes, but ultimately gives into the poorly punned account. 

"It's not really gonna be in that much detail, I swear-"

"Oh it better not be. You owe me. That was a shit pun."

"Cool. So, you know, we met at the bar, I started flirting, whatever, not long after I was pretty much in your lap and groping your ass, I offered to take you home,we with forthright intentions, no worries. Uhh..." Matt bites at his lip, glancing up toward the ceiling. "Yeah. If it's not obvious we fucked." 

"Really," Ryan says in a deadpan,"I thought just sat around and fuckin'... I dunno." 

"Shut up Ryan! God, and to think I was gonna say you were real good, like. A hundred percent fresh on Rotten Tomatoes, so good." Matt giggles, taking a swipe at Ryan's arm. There's no actual force behind it, so he just pushes Ryan a little to one side. "You really were good though. Like you kept making sure I was comfortable and feeling okay. I really liked that. Even if, like. You know."

"You were more in control of the situation?" Ryan takes a glance toward the eggs. They'd probably be done soon. Matt seems invested in letting him know what happened, though.

"Yeah, or whatever you want to call it. You wanted to ride me for a bit, so you did, then we just went back to missionary. You scratched up my chest and shoulders pretty good. I'm honestly surprised none of the marks stayed." He pulls down the shoulder of the sweatshirt, glancing to his shoulder to double check.

"Uh, hey, shouldn't the omelette be like... Done?" That bacon is looking rather crispy at this point, more char than pork. 

"What? Oh fuck-" 

Matt turns back to the stove, whisking them both off their respective burners to those which weren't turned on. He divvies them out evenly onto two plates before putting them side by side before Ryan. 

"Can I get you something to drink? We got OJ, uh, coffee, I can brew up some of that-"

"No, no thanks, this is fine. I'll grab some coffee once I get home." Matt nods in return before he leans back over the counter to dig into his food. 

Ryan takes his time getting into the food, legs dangling off his chair. Matt doesn't seem like a total dick yet at least? He's been very kind to him while he's been here, and more than accepting of the fact Ryan remembers little from the night before. In this sort of situation, is it normal and okay for him to keep in touch with him? Probably not. But he might, gay friends of his are few and far between, and it gets lonely at times, not being able to talk about it with someone who actually relates to his issues. 

"Do you remember, like, anything? At all, Ryan?" Matt pops in half a bacon strip into his mouth after he asks. 

"Uhh..." Ryan pauses, fork in midair, trying to focus and grab one of the few snippets of thought he had. "Nothing, like, major? A lot of it's probably just some. I dunno. Not real memories and just my brain thinking it's from last night? I remember your hands on my hips, at the bar." He closes his eyes, putting the fork down on the plate. "Maybe. Like. Being against a wall."

"Seems accurate." Matt shrugs, going quiet again for a few seconds while he eats. 

"Hey, um, Matt?" If Matt says no, he doesn't want to stay in touch, he won't push it. But, all things considered, that seems unlikely. "Would you want to, like. Stay in touch. Maybe we could go on an actual date or something?"

A wide smile breaks across Matt's face. "Dude, of course. I was so fucking nervous, I thought you'd never ask. When you leave, I'll put my number in your phone. Maybe next Saturday or something we can get together, if those nights usually work for you."

"Oh. Yeah! Of course!" His heart practically skips a beat. "God, yeah that sounds great, I don't have any plans next Saturday." 

Matt nods, taking his now empty plate and putting it in the sink. And just, holy shit, Ryan can't believe his luck. How the hell did he manage to pull off getting a date out of such a disaster. 

"Fuck yeah! Can't wait. You better be ready for some fuckin'... Clingy ass boyfriend texts. I'm gonna romance the shit out of you." Matt walks around the counter to Ryan's side, leaning in to press another brief kiss to his cheek, scratching his cheek gently against Ryan's scruff. "But for now, my sweaty ass is getting in the shower."

"Care for company?" 

Matt laughs, swatting Ryan's arm once more, still gentle. Ryan can't hold back a laugh either, heart hammering in his chest as he watches him walk off, calling back to him, "Dude, you already look like a leech attacked your neck. I don't think you want any more of that."

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all should totally yell at me and tell me how to improve if you want I like learning how to make my shit better


End file.
